Fabulous Satellite Lounge in an orbit all its own

Published 5:30 am, Saturday, June 15, 2002

A decade after opening its doors, the Fabulous Satellite Lounge holds secrets even the most loyal lovers of roots- and modern-rock music have yet to discover.

Few know that the green room, separated from the stage by a thin wall of Sheetrock, houses a TV that plays only the 1990 Kevin Bacon thriller Tremors. An attached VCR plays it on a loop, ensuring that the terror never ends. Owner Dickie Malone estimates Tremors has been playing nonstop for about two years.

The green room, about as big as a mid-sized bathroom, gives artists little choice but to get familiar with Bacon's battle against 30-foot worms. The other choice is to examine "decorations" left by some of the more than 3,000 bands that have played on the Satellite stage since 1992.

Mint walls are barely discernible under the hundreds of stickers, which display the names of everyone from in-state favorites Vallejo and Moses Guest to nationally famous Wilco and Son Volt.

As the Fabulous Satellite Lounge celebrates its 10th anniversary June 15 with a Tex-Mex performance by the Aztex and the Traditional Mexican Conjunto Trio, featuring bajo sexto master Max Baca, it has come to symbolize how night life on Washington Avenue is supposed to be.

"There's a difference between a nice club that appreciates bands, and your basic rock toilet," says Kevin McKinney, vocalist for Soulhat, a band that frequents the Satellite. "It's one of the gigs we always look forward to."

In recent years the Satellite has become the site of some of Houston's most remembered and dubious musical moments. Jackson Browne, Tab Benoit, Richard Thompson and Link Wray have all taken the mike there.

A little more than a year ago, Austin singer-songwriter Bob Schneider whipped through a thunderous set of roots-rock as a heavy rain beat down outside. By the end of the night, 6 inches of water covered the concrete floors. Tropical Storm Allison had unleashed her rage.

At 5 the next morning, Malone walked up to Jack in the Box and purchased $100 worth of cheap tacos for those who were stranded overnight.

Last November, surf rocker Dick Dale rode a wave of fans right out the door and continued playing his cordless electric guitar while standing in the middle of traffic on Washington Avenue.

Two summers ago, Houston modern rock band Blue October played to a packed house on a scorching night when the club's air conditioning died. Fans ran to the ice-house-style beer troughs, not to get a cold one but to grab quickly-melting ice.

"(Blue October) hasn't been back since," Malone says. "I think they hold it against me."

Sadly the Satellite's location, next to what was once the vibrant Rockefeller's and across from townhouses where Club Hey Hey once stood, also tells a tale of what's wrong with Houston's club scene.

"It doesn't surprise me that those clubs closed over the years," Malone says. "Houston will probably never have a scene like Dallas' Deep Ellum or Austin's downtown because there isn't enough cooperation within the music community."

Malone feels the lack of a central nightlife district in Houston is a major contributor to scene stagnancy. With clubs now spread out between downtown, Midtown, Montrose, Washington Avenue and beyond, few are benefiting from the business they could bring each other.

When Malone opened the Satellite in June 1992 his plan was to cater to the spill-over audience from Rockefeller's. His club would feature a house band and low cover charges, and would serve as a groovy watering hole before clubgoers moved on to see acts next door or down the road at the Bon Ton Room (now Mary Jane's).

"At one point, we had a streetside bar set up so we could serve drinks to people waiting in line to get to Rockefeller's," says Malone. "We weren't originally even going to book bands."

Two years after the Satellite opened, it had gone from the new kid on the block to the gem of Washington Avenue's live-music scene. In the fall of 1993, Mickey's Mardi Gras and the Bon Ton Room were unplugged and shuttered.

The next summer Rockefeller's, a musical institution since the early '80s, was closed by the Internal Revenue Service for nonpayment of taxes.

"It's frustrating. Rockefeller's was a very nice facility and great neighbors," Malone says. "But since I opened, everything's changed."

A prime reason the Satellite is the successor of Houston club Darwinism is that Malone, 52, was a guitarist before becoming a club owner. His band Dream Machine opened for the Who when he was 17. He played in late-'80s local party band the Dishes and later managed the group Miss Molly, which performed at the club on opening night.

He has a couple of tricks to keep the club bustling, but his main rule is: Keep the bands happy, then the crowds will be happy.

It is the reason there are no buzzing, distractive neon lights to be found anywhere inside or outside the dimly lit Satellite: Those who need illumination have to live with the psychedelic oil-and-water light projections on the club walls.

Other amenities, which seem obvious but are lacking in other clubs, are a green room so talent can catch a breather, band access to bathrooms that don't require a chaotic walk through the crowd, and a ramp so equipment can be rolled -- not carried -- in.

"We pretty much had the choice of clubs in a five-state area to record our live album, and we chose the Satellite Lounge," says Fred Andrews of Honeybrowne. "It has great sound, and its own prestige about it."

Malone designed the Satellite with a 70-foot boomerang-shaped bar set right in the middle. Accessible from all sides, it allows patrons to order drinks without having to turn their backs to the stage.

And the green room's Tremors notwithstanding, there are no TVs. Bands do not want to compete with SportsCenter. "If you want to watch sports, don't come here," Malone says simply.

Malone believes loyalty and these few perks will be the keys to another successful 10 years, but he admits he hasn't satisfied everyone. He recalls a night not long ago when one-hit wonders Evan and Jaron came to play the club.

Aside from ordering kosher meals that were to be completely sealed (and that included the silverware and plates), the duo's manager demanded the club order him a pizza or he would ruin the Satellite's reputation nationally.

"We told that guy to take a hike," Malone laughs. "They are banned for life."

For everyone else, the bar is open, and the band will be on stage soon.